Grounding
by sharkinterviewee
Summary: Carol's still picking up the pieces of who she used to be and who she's going to be- who she chooses to be. It's hardest in the quiet moments. When there's nothing to fight, no one to save, no mission to accomplish, there's nothing left but her. And that's the trouble. (Or: You don't get over years of gaslighting just by saving the day. When Carol needs grounding, Maria is there)


It's only been a matter of weeks. She's still picking up the pieces, of who she used to be and who she's going to be- who she chooses to be.

She swallows thickly, staring down at Maria's hand in hers, the warmth she feels, so familiar, her thumb smoothing over the back of her hand, again and again, like little reassurances.

It's hardest in the quiet moments. When there's nothing to do, no one to save, no mission to accomplish, nothing to fight, there's nothing left but her. And that's the trouble.

In the down time, that's when the real struggle begins.

She's been remembering more and more. It seems that chip on her neck did more than limit her abilities.

But the memories are still coming back in a fog, when the past six years of lies are clear as day, and she knows the truth, but you don't get over years and years of gaslighting just by saving the world.

She's fine when she has something to do.

It's only when she has nothing to occupy her, when there's nothing but her, and she's not sure she knows who Carol Danvers is. What's real and what's just built upon years of survival, of adaptation, manipulation and acts that were so well crafted she- she trusted them, and now there's memories of laughing and crinkling around the eyes, bonding moments with her team, but they knew, they all knew, they knew her, and the problem is that Carol doesn't.

That's when she finds herself here, sitting across the table in the middle of the night, because Maria knew her better than anyone else.

When Carol needed grounding, needed Maria to tell her what was real- that's exactly what she did.

_Tell me about her_, she had to stop herself from saying. When she was asking Maria about Carol Danvers.

Maria smiled sadly, sweetly, took her hand like she understands, telling her stories and sharing memories of the girl who could take on the world. Giving her an anchor, something concrete for her to ground herself with.

She knows Maria's looking at her, but Carol can't look up, just staring at their hands. Her throat is thick, some of the stories have a flicker of familiarity, some of them are still gone to her, and some of them flesh out what she's already regained, and her fractured sense of self feels a little bit more reinforced.

Carol's picked up the pieces and she's whole now, but there are parts that are still shaky, still fuzzy.

What's more- there are parts of her she didn't have six years ago. New edges and lines and shapes, new paths and parts from someone who didn't bleed red blood, and those parts of her have been shattered, stuck back together with finishing glue from a new perspective, and they'll always be crooked and stuck together wrong because they were put in wrong in the first place, but she's cut off the paths they might have tried to take. They'll always be a part of her, cracked but with much more clarity than she'd like them to have.

There's no getting rid of them, and she's not sure she'd want to if she could. She's had enough losing already. She doesn't want to forget.

What's more- there are parts of her that didn't even exist a month ago. These new parts are built upon the past of Carol Danvers and the past of Vers, something different and distinct from both of the women she used to be, something that is still building.

She's not the person she was, and she never will be again. There's new additions, changes that take place, that are sometimes confusing and lost in the chaos, but it's unmistakable.

She won't be the same person she was six years ago, there's no going back. She won't be the same person she was for the past six years either.

Carol isn't the person she was, but they're still a part of her. A bigger part of her than she'd like to admit, in case of her life as Vers.

She is who she is, and she is _growing_.

There's no one she'd rather grow with than Maria Rambeau.

The woman sitting across from her who is willing to hold her hand and tell her story after story of their memories together, good and bad, in the middle of the night all because Carol needed grounding, needed something solid to latch onto, needed help knowing what was real and what wasn't.

But it's okay. Because Carol is finally home.

* * *

**AN: Just watched Captain Marvel for the first time last week, and I have _feelings_**


End file.
